Page 63 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

“Not. Not silly. Not when it comes to you.”

Lily lets out a heavy sigh and smiles when it’s finished. “What am I going to do with you?”

I say nothing because the answer to her question depends on what’s really going on inside that beautiful, curly-haired head.

Lily tucks her thumb under my lower lip, and then she nods. “I love you, Jackson. I really do.”

My heart leaps like it’s been set on fire, but I remain silent, letting the truth wash over me. After so many years of solitude in this feeling, I’m no longer alone. Maybe I’m still reeling from being hit too hard; maybe this is all a hallucination.

But when Lily kisses me again, I know it’s real.

Chapter 19

Lily

It’s hard to believe that three months have passed since everything changed. Since the night Jackson told me he loved me, and I, against all odds, said the words back.

It was not just an act of saying, though. It was an act of admittance. Of acceptance. Of a truth that had been established a while before I realized it even was a truth.

From that moment on, we’ve been inseparable. After the fight, Will finally gave up. He left town the very next day, probably desperate to avoid a lawsuit from Jackson which would have been well-warranted since Will started the fight. But Jackson didn’t want any more distractions thanks to my ex.

We’ve relished every moment. Walks in the morning, dates upon dates, each more lavish than the last, so many flowers, just as he promised. Most nights we have dinner together whether it’s at my parents’ house or with Kayla or all of the above. However, we still save time for just us two.

The holidays didn’t help in slowing things down. Holidays are the most romantic time of year, I’m now convinced. With Will, italways felt like a struggle, trying to balance our bills and travel and everything else.

With Jackson, all it takes is a snap of his fingers and everything’s sorted. I was absolutely mortified when I gave him a watercolor I had painted of the view from the lookout of Cider Bay loop trail and in return, he gave me earrings shaped like bumble bees, encrusted with yellow diamonds. It felt like a complete imbalance. However, if you asked Jackson, he’d say my watercolor was the best gift he’s ever gotten.

No wonder it’s hard to keep my hands off him. I never realized just how sexy kindness and compassion could be, but after many years of not having it, it’s become my greatest aphrodisiac.

Not to mention, Jackson is a very giving partner. After all, he’s been waitingallthese years.

I don’t think I’ve had as many orgasms in my whole life as I’ve had in the past three months.

I’ve quite nearly moved into his house, although accidentally. I’ve got not just a drawer, but a whole closet committed to my things, even if the few items I have take up only part of a single rod. I’ve got the toothbrush, all my hygiene and hair products, and the fridge is always stocked with the foods I like. I never even have to ask. Once Jackson sees something, it miraculously makes an appearance every time.

The sky is the limit when you’ve got a man with a bank account like his. And that’s not good for keeping my feet on the ground. Not at all.

In fact, he’s somehow cajoled me into letting him make the primary investments in my tattoo parlor. We’ve been looking at locations, aiming for an early summer opening.

Life has started to look a lot brighter. Even my shifts at the drugstore aren’t plagued by feelings of inadequacy or disappointment. Now, drawing my tattoo ideas at the counter is not a mark of hopelessness. It’s purpose instead.

Because one day, very soon, I’ll be able to achieve my dream.

Thanks in part to Jackson, but if you asked him, it’s all me.

Always me.

Today, I’m working on some bird flash tattoos. Though flash tattoos aren’t custom and are chosen off the wall, I still want them to have my flair. And attention to detail has always been the hallmark of my work.

I shade the beak of the female cardinal with a reddish-orange pencil. I like her best of all the birds I’ve drawn so far. “Perfect,” I say, then rip the drawing out of the book. “Lift up your arm and flex.”

Kayla, who has been standing across from me at the register eating while I finish up the drawing, lifts her arm and flexes. “This is embarrassing,” she moans. “I have no muscle.”

“Sure you do. Besides, it’s just to get an idea of scale.” I hold the drawing up to her bicep.

She regards the image and smiles. “That’s cute.”

“You want me to do it for you?”

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